“Now we must face Madame Zotof,” she said in an amused tone. “I have no doubt that she is waiting for us.”
“Unless she has gone in search of us elsewhere,” I replied.
“She is there, I think,” Zénaïde said quietly; “I can see some persons at the door. Madame has the patience of obstinacy.”
“I trust that it is only madame,” I remarked gravely; “it is a long time for her to wait, for the dawn is breaking in the east.”
“You will find that it is she,” Zénaïde returned.
In a few moments her words were verified. There were three figures at the door; and as we approached, a woman came forward, and we were greeted by madame’s high voice.
“So you have come at last, M. l’Ambassadeur,” she exclaimed shrilly. “M. Zotof is searching the town for you, but I simply waited here. Who is that with you?”
“It is I, Madame Zotof,” Zénaïde replied pleasantly. “I did not expect visitors at this early hour, but I will endeavor to receive you with appropriate courtesy.”
“I thank you,” madame replied with mocking suavity. “I remember yet the cordiality of your last reception, Madame de Brousson, but I am even forced to trespass upon your hospitality once more.”
Remembering that I had protested against the former visit, I smiled a little, especially when I thought that they had not dared to force an entrance, although they must have been full of impatience and furious at the delay. Pierrot had entered at the rear, and coming through the house opened the door for us. The gray light of early dawn was breaking through the darkness without, but within the tapers were still burning, and their radiance seemed dingy and yellowish in contrast to the growing light at the windows, from which Pierrot was removing the shutters. Zénaïde led the way up the stairs, and, entering the small salon, laid aside her mantle and turned calmly to Madame Zotof.